


Wanting More

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking into Wayne Manor, Catwoman gets a eyeful and a little jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting More

It started as a lark, on I had every intention of playing with before sinking my teeth into. Normally I targeted bad guys, or at least rich people who had it coming. Wayne was stupid enough to be as honest as he seemed. Wayne and Wayne Enterprises were heavily involved in philanthropy, a lot of which helped animals. More helped humans, granted, but Brucie also had a soft spot for furry critters. My research showed he even offered a million to the first group to come up with a treatment for White-nose Syndrome. I don’t know why a playboy would care about bats, but they were pretty popular in Gotham right now.

Goody two shoes Wayne wouldn’t be on my normal hit list, so I thought I wouldn’t run into Batman there. I don’t want to go to jail, so I do research on targets. I had contacts and backdoor software for every security system available to the public, and quite a few that weren’t. Naturally, I started with Sid ‘the Shiv’ Saperstein. Yes I know, but not everyone can have a fantastic name like Catwoman. 

Anyway, the Shiv was on some work release program with W.E. and trying to go straight. I had enough stuff to send him back to prison if the authorities ‘found’ it, so he was motivated to help me. The Shiv didn’t want to lose his job either, so he also had motivation to not help me. When he called me back with the info I’d requested, I thought he had decided not to help me. He was scared enough to sneak me into W.E. to see the information my own sweet self. Surprised and confused, I’d let him know I wasn’t going to turn him in and left.

Wayne Manor it seemed, was completely without security. 

Wayne might have the IQ of rock, but his insurance company was smarter than that. Even the pictures of parties held in Wayne Manor showed all sorts of portable goodies. His insurance company wasn’t a matter of public record, which meant I had to break into every one in Gotham. I was considering it, when it occurred to me that Wayne might be dealing with an international company that didn’t even have offices in Gotham. 

I tried to crash a party, only to be rousted by a British gentleman with no-nonsense tattooed across his forehead. Fine, it wasn’t really, but it might as well have been. Next I tried to get a job there, only to find that his permanent household staff consisted of one butler. Temps were brought in for parties and pre-scheduled cleanings. Most of those staffs were like Shiv, scared straight by the Bat and looking for a chance to start again. Not having any identities with felonies on their records, as that would make me more noticeable to the wrong people, I found working there wasn’t a possibility. I resigned myself to a two week stakeout.

While looking for my cat near the impressive gates, I noticed the cameras that followed my every move. Cameras that W.E. didn’t even admit to being there. They watched, but didn’t do anything until I got to the gate. The British bouncer appeared rather quickly for such an advanced age, and when he looked at me I knew he saw through my disguise. Not much of a disguise I will admit, sunglasses, a red wig and jeans instead of a blonde wig and evening gown, but anyway. He sized me up like a facial recognition robot and said that he’d been watching the cameras since I arrived. No cat had shown up on those cameras, so I should search elsewhere. He was extremely polite, being British, but his meaning was clear. I bought a clue and left. 

Whoever said work smarter, not harder didn’t know how hard it was to get an invite to one of Brucie’s parties. Since I couldn’t even get past the butler/bloodhound, I had to take a new approach. Creating a new identity, altering my voice and appearance was easy. Playing the bubble headed bimbo that got Guy Grossmith’s attention; that was painfully difficult. Six months of putting up with this creep, and robbing his house three times because he annoyed me, got me into Wayne Manor. 

I was prepared with a utility belt of my own that should have made Batman proud. Cameras that took images all around me, 360°, up and down and the non-visible spectrum decorated my waist and jewelry. A device hidden in my cleavage was set to detect the frequencies any electronic surveillance might be operating on. My overly large purse held devices that went from electronic jammer to explosive with a flip of a button. They wouldn’t be activated until I wished and I planted them liberally around the house. I might have spent slightly over a hundred thousand dollars on this caper, but Wayne had my curiosity aroused. Yes, it will kill me one day. Moving on.

That party was five days ago, and I’m ready to go. Guy has called fourteen times since then and I haven’t indulged in telling him off in case I needed a second look around Wayne Manor. After the high of breaking into that infuriating house wears off, I’ll tell Guy he’s even more mentally negligible than Brucie. When he figures that out in a month, I can rob his house again!

A week of studying footage and planning and Wayne Manor is mine to prowl and pillage. Once inside the gate, the moving lasers that covered the grounds are annoying but doable. I take a few minutes to get my breathing under control from where I stand on the overhang above the main entrance. I’d left one of the widows unlocked at the party. The window was closed enough to not trigger the alarm, but it was also in one of the unused rooms. I had simply banked that the old guy had enough to do without locking every window every single night. 

I had to climb up a story and around to the left side of the house to get to that window. Triggering the electronic jammers, I ease the window open while holding my breath. No wailing siren tells the world I’m here, so I slide into the room. Closing the window behind me, I head for the used portions of the house, where all the valuables are so temptingly displayed. My planned route takes me down the backstairs and passed the kitchen. I’m congratulating myself on this heist when I’m caught in a sudden bar of light. I freeze even as a voice responds.

“Owe! You could warn a guy before opening the fridge in the dark. It’s rude.” This voice would be pretty if it wasn’t genuinely irked at unexpected light. Well, as unexpected as light from a device that always emits light when opened can be. It doesn’t sound like Brucie, but it’s stupid enough to be him. I’m distracted by a second voice, from the one who opened the fridge I guess, and he’s not British.

“I’m rude? You wanted to wake Alfred at four in the morning to make us a snack.” I agree with the second voice, the one spiked with affection and caring. At four in the morning only burglars should be awake and carting off your possessions. Still, neither man sounds like Brucie, so I’m wondering who’s staying with him that it didn’t make the news. The light shuts off and I creep forward cautiously. 

“Did you find the food yet or what?” Grumpy must still have his eyes shut, so I don’t have to worry about him seeing me go by. 

“Yes, but keep your eyes closed so I can microwave the Penne Alla’arribiata.”

“Do you want peas with that?” Affection-man laughs at that, like it means something I’m not getting before he speaks. New light from the microwave holds me again.

“I thought you were working during that whole thing.” Affection-man asks. 

“I’m a multitasking madman. I also have good ears, and I’m not sure why the microwave hasn’t started yet.”

“I was admiring the view.”

“Cute. Microwave, food, and the view admiring adjourns to the bedroom.”

“I don’t have to use the microwave, you know.” Affection-man is going for seductive, but I’m confused. Curious is a byproduct of confused, so I move to the right of the hall. I lean down to the crack at the bottom of the window food gets passed out from. 

“You do. Unless we’re stranded somewhere without wood for a fire, you’re not cooking for me with your eyes.” Eye cooking only makes me peer into the kitchen, wondering what’s going on in there. Grumpy is speaking from behind Affection-man, to the right of the open microwave. There is a bowl in the microwave, but Affection-man is much more interested in talking Grumpy into his bed. 

“How about heat vision fondue?” Heat vision? That red jacket seems a lot longer than a jacket, and the arm rubbing Grumpy’s is blue in the chunk of light. Holy Cats! “You can be my dipstick.” 

The snort didn’t turn into laughter, so I figure it’s whoever Superman had bent to the counter. Is there any possibility Superman is ‘rescuing’ Brucie from his bachelor lifestyle?

“Dipstick? Should I wash your windshield while checking your oil, sir?”

“I don’t know what you call things you dip in cheese or chocolate sauce.”

“Dipping things would have been better than dipstick. Two words and your seductive patter turns into automotive talk.” 

Superman clears his throat dramatically and pulls a leg in black sweat pants around his waist. His large hand moves to rub the butt attached to the leg, and the leg stays where he puts it. Looks uncomfortable, but Grumpy is obviously into it. Superman leans in to whisper at his friend, and I edge forward to hear.

“The British put honey in their tea, so I know you have some around here. When I find it, I will cover you in golden deliciousness. A gentle touch of heat vision and you’ll be my person crème brulee. You’ll be powerless to resist, as I break your crusty exterior.” 

Grumpy’s laugh startles us all, and he pushes to his feet. Superman frowns as Brucie moves away. His hands are up in surrender, but his face is amused and visible in the microwave light. A lot of answers fall into place for me, such as why a simple billionaire needs such impressive security. Being Superman’s love interest would place him into a world of danger if anybody found out, that I can see. I can even understand how playing stupid in public would further distance Brucie from the otherworldly intelligence Superman displays. But how did these two possibly get together? Whatever it was, I should get the hell out of here!

“I may not be able to cook with my eyes, but I’m sure the recipe for crème brulee calls for sugar and not honey. I’m sorry, but you suck at dirty talk.” Brucie has backed himself up to the island between the kitchen and eating space, so he has nowhere to go when Superman stalks toward him. Superman’s trying for angry, but even I can see the lust in his profile. He stands in front of Brucie and places a fist on the counter on each side of the man, purposely not touching him. 

“For that little comment, you get to do some sucking of your own.”

Brucie puts his fist under his chin and looks thoughtful, a very neat trick for someone I was sure was near brain death a week ago. “I am hungry, but I’m not sure if I want Penne Alla’arribiata anymore. I might enjoy some sausage.”

Brucie drops his thinking hand to shrug, and ‘accidentally’ brush Superman’s bulge. Superman leans in to kiss Brucie, and I wonder why Wayne has his heat on in September. I’ve almost convinced myself to move on, when Brucie does this slow slide that lets him trail kisses down Superman’s body. He gives the stylized S a lick that causes Superman to moan. I have no idea why that would do it for Superman, but by the time Brucie gets to his waist, Superman’s naked from the waist down. 

I have to fight back a whimper from my throat, because what Superman’s got shouldn’t be wasted on another guy. Brucie takes to it like a seasoned pro, which he must be by this point. There’s an ease of familiarity in their interaction that says they’ve been together a while. I’ve always been a loner, and now I find I want that familiarity more than any shiny bobble I’ve ever seen.

I should really, really go, before a sex charged Superman decides to take a look around with his special eyes. Everyone knows he’s a nice guy, but nobody would be happy to find out they’d been observed like this. My left foot starts to move, and Brucie decides to release Superman’s super-cock. Superman shudders and moans, trying to force his brain to ask Brucie for more. I find I can’t leave now, as I might learn something from Brucie.

Brucie leans back, slides, stands and turns. He’s gone from kneeling before Superman to standing behind him, via the space between Superman’s legs. He’s feeling along the shelves behind him, unable to take his eyes off of Superman. Longstanding relationship and they still drive each other crazy with desire like this? God I hope they know how lucky they are!

Superman pulls off his cape and shirt, but resumes his face down lean onto the counter. He’s impatient for Brucie to find lubricant and gets this point across by turning his head to Brucie and moaning. Brucie’s hand connects and he triumphantly pulls out a can of spray cooking oil. Superman laughs at the sight, so Brucie gives him a calculating, wicked grin. His thumb pushes off the top and he gives it a couple of shakes. As Brucie shoves down his sweats, Superman stops laughing to ask.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Non-stick, olive oil based, healthy enough to eat. Bound to work.” Shifting the can to his left hand, Brucie sprays his right hand and cock while Superman looks on with wide eyes. The first finger goes in, and by the time the second on follows Superman doesn’t care what product is allowing this. His hands are clasped together, probably so he doesn’t crush the marble countertop with his enthusiasm. The third finger doesn’t seem to be in there long, but what do I know about such things?

Brucie replaces his fingers with his cock and pushes in slowly. His face is hard to read in the light from the open microwave, but I think he’s going slowly to prolong the sensation of sliding in. Once he’s completely buried, he pauses for a breath and something like joy crosses his face. Brucie begins moving, setting a slow rhythm. I find I can’t leave now, because it would be rude to leave in the middle of such a fine show. 

Brucie knows himself, I see, knows how long he can stand this much pleasure. Time has lost all meaning for me as I watch these two make love, but Brucie finally reaches around Superman to grab his erection. Brucie gives a final shove and shudders, Superman following a second later. Show’s over, I should really go now but Brucie leans forward to lay on Superman. I start to move only to freeze when the explosion happens. 

They recover quicker than I do, realizing it was the microwave long before I do. They’re laughing, like a microwave explodes beside them every time they have sex. Fine, Superman’s as crazy as his lover, and I’m out of here. I’m going out the way I came in, knowing better than to rob a house protected by Superman, when they start talking. 

“What am I going to tell Alfred about his kitchen?” Brucie’s feeling his afterglow, but he still sounds almost scared to talk to Alfred. Definitely the butler I ran into before, and I can see where he would intimidate the guy who fucks Superman.

“We’ll clean it up, super quick, and you can buy him a new microwave tomorrow. You know he only keeps it around for your convenience.”

“Still, I’ll need something better to tell him than it blew up because we left the door open while we were having sex.”

“Any villains in Gotham we can blame it on?”

“Even Gotham doesn’t have people weird enough to sneak into homes just to destroy micro… Catwoman?”

“You want to blame Catwoman?”

“No, she’s in the hall!”

I don’t know how Brucie saw me in the dark, at the bottom of a pull-down divider, but I don’t pause to wonder. I simply run, hoping for an alien invasion to distract Superman. It doesn’t work, as strong arms grab me and pick me up before I get twenty feet down the hallway. He takes me into the kitchen, where Brucie has turned on the light and is pouring three glasses of ice water. As I sit where he points, I see Superman. The only reason I got as far as I did, was that he stopped to put on his clothes before chasing me. Brucie’s back in his sweats, but his shirt never came off. Pity, it would have gotten me through some long nights in jail. Not knowing what else to do, I sip at the ice water. Brucie looks at me and there is ice in his eyes, but his voice is back to the way it sounds on the news.

“So, Catwoman. Seen anything interesting tonight?”

“I just came to take a look around. You have lots of pretty things that attract a girl’s attention.” I give him a coy smile, even though I know flirting is pointless. Superman sighs and turns to Brucie to speak.

“She’s lying, her heart rate spiked.” Superman is a lie detector too? How is that fair?

“I’ve read all about Catwoman. Seems to me she’d have to plan out her heists instead of just stumbling along.” Brucie gives me a coy smile, but Superman is practicing his Bat-glare on me. “The papers think you only steal from mob guys and the like. So what brought you here?”

What do I tell him? I was looking for a new thrill, I was trying to avoid Batman or the big truth. “Curiosity. W.E. didn’t have any records of installing you a security system, so I got curious.”

“Since you got in, you obviously found holes in that non-existent security system, so tell me about those.”

“Why Brucie, a girl’s got to have some secrets.” In case I ever do decide to rob this place again, as unlikely as that is with its big blue guardian angel standing there.

“I’ll make you a deal, Catwoman. Tell me all about the holes that need to be plugged, forget who you saw in the kitchen with me tonight and we’ll let you go.”

“Bruce?” Superman asks before I get the chance to, and Bruce responds to him. He pulls Superman’s hand off the counter to bring it up to his lips.

“Lover, all this security is to protect me from your enemies. Catwoman’s an excellent burglar, but not your enemy. Surely fixing my security and protecting our secret is more important than prosecuting for breaking and entering.” Superman doesn’t look convinced, so I throw in my two cents worth.

“I didn’t break anything, so it’s only unlawful entering. A fine, a slap on the wrist and you’d have to tell the police and the courts the truth about what I saw here tonight.” Superman turns a frown at me, so I smile back.

“What did you see?” He’s a lie detector, so I’m stuck with the truth. Resting my chin on my hand, I purr at Superman.

“I almost asked for a plate of Penne Alla’arribiata, and popcorn for the show.” He lets out a deep sigh, like making a deal with me hurts but gives in. It’s a stalemate and we all know it. “Superman, I solemnly swear to never tell anyone what I saw here tonight, if you let this indiscretion slide. I also promise to never again break into stately Wayne Manor, now that I know it is under your protection.”

Superman chokes back a laugh, as if I’ve said something funny but nods his head in agreement. Bruce clears his throat, so we both look at him.

“I said you’d have to tell me about the holes in my security.”

“Naturally!” I tell him all about my devices, including where I’ve put the jammers. Superman dashes off and comes back with them as I tell about the dance across the lasers on the lawn and scaling his house. The window thing irritates him, that such a simple trick fooled his security. I run out of words and swear to the super-polygraph that’s all I know. He nods once at Bruce, I guess confirming that I was telling the truth about that. 

I get a Brucie million dollar grin, before he says something to Superman. I know enough to find treasure in most countries on Earth, and I’ve never heard the sounds Superman is replying to Bruce with. I’m guessing it’s the alien language of Superman, but he moves to me before I can ask. Superman picks me up, and the world blurs around me. It’s a little nauseating, but somehow beautiful to see the world as a moving swirl. The world solidifies around me, and Superman sets me down on a roof. I’m getting my bearings when Superman speaks.

“Break your promise and I’ll find you. Remember, there is nothing you want at Wayne Manor.” I can’t help myself. My cheekiness and honesty streak will probably kill me long before the curiosity can.

“Actually, the one thing I want from that house is the one thing I can’t steal.” He gives me a thoughtful frown, and I feel like the smile I’m returning is unintentionally sad. “I’d give anything to find the love you two share. I hope you appreciate it.”

“We do, Catwoman. Probably sounds stupid to you, but Bruce makes me human. Without him, I don’t know what I would be capable of. Please remember that, should you ever think about breaking your word.” 

I don’t blink, but he’s suddenly gone. Poor man, I don’t think he gets it. I’m a thief, a criminal, maybe even a thrill seeker and adrenaline junkie. But I’m also the crazy cat lady on every city block, living with her cats because nobody else can love her. I take what I need to keep living, which might be a jewel or a prolonged rooftop fight with Batman. Coming between those two would make me something worse than a criminal; it would make me an inhuman villain.

I’ll keep my word and only revisit that little sex scene on really lonely nights. I’m climbing down the roof ladder to my fire escape, when I fully realize where I am. Superman put me on the roof of my apartment building! Isis Sipperley holds the lease on the penthouse suite in these luxury apartments, so there is no way Superman should know to put me on this roof. I’ve almost convinced myself it’s a coincidence, when I remember their conversation. What did they say to each other that I didn’t need to hear, unless it was my address? But who knew my address? Superman or rich boy Wayne?

Isis Sipperley paws at me, waking the other cats in the room. They come to me and I start to tell them what happened. For my own piece of mind, I think I’ll believe Superman x-rayed the buildings until he found one with a lot of cats. Still, when I wake up, I’ll find another apartment to rent under one of my other cat’s names. Until then, I’ve got a new memory to turn into a dream. Superman and Brucie, the world’s oddest couple!


End file.
